


Unforeseen Comm-Sequences

by Britpacker



Series: Comms. [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Eavesdropping can have repercussions.  Not always bad ones, as Hoshi finds out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Unbeta'd and still not mine. Prompted by a sudden realisation that an attractive, intelligent, charming woman on their bridge provokes no reaction at all among Enterprise's men.  
>  I'm trying something a bit different, but the central relationship remains Tucker/Reed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoshi's embarrassed but it's okay. Nobody's going to know why - are they?

Everything's A-1. The whole crew is healthy and happy, running through their routine duties as we cruise at Warp 3 from Bratoli to study a spectacular nebula the locals say is legendary in this sector of the galaxy - one the Vulcan database doesn't mention, as Captain Archer has been pointing out to T'Pol all day, gently teasing her and making the rest of the bridge crew smile. Everything - and everyone - is normal.

Except me. And only I realise that.

It's my own fault. I should've disconnected as soon as I realised what was happening. I can run diagnostics at any time. Especially with my sleep patterns being so badly disturbed.

The away team transported aboard yesterday evening and the Captain came direct to the bridge to give orders to the helm. T'Pol started scanning the Bratoli data at her station. _They_ disappeared.

_"When I come home, you_ are _going to fuck me, aren't you?"_

Maybe nobody else saw the look on Trip's face as Malcolm stepped out of the shuttle. Maybe nobody else paid any attention to how fast they excused themselves. It's even possible Chef didn't notice that they didn't show up in the mess for dinner.

I'll bet he didn't drive himself crazy in his cabin half the night imagining them together on Trip's bed, their skin shimmering silver in the light of the passing stars. Legs entwined. Bodies merged. Screaming their joy in release.

_"I want...Jeez Mal I need... oh yeah, so good..."_

It's their fault I've been a walking mess of sexual arousal for the last two days. I can't eat, can't work... can't even think without their voices, fierce and sensual, winding their way through my brain. I wish I hadn't heard.

That's a bare-faced lie. Even though I'm not sure I'll ever be able to hold a sensible conversation with either of them again I wouldn't trade that ten minute sexual soundtrack for anything in the galaxy. 

God knows, fantasising about what two of my male superior officers do with each other when they're alone in the dark is the nearest thing I've had to a sex life since Risa!

And I'm starting to feel damp down below as I perch on the edge of my bridge chair, pretending to focus on the UT upgrade I've been recommending for months. Travis asked me to join the three of them in the mess hall an hour ago; he looked hurt when I turned him down, babbling a stupid excuse about the translation matrices I'm meant to be aligning. But how could I sit opposite them at a public table without remembering?

"Ensign?" Damn. Baines is hovering over my shoulder, and he knows exactly what should've been achieved in the time I've been sitting here staring at the screen. "You okay?"

"Fine." Instinctively I've used Malcolm's word and I dip my head in the hope nobody will spot my blush. The last thing I need is a well-meaning subordinate drawing the captain's attention to me. "Maybe I should take a break."

"Get some rest, Hoshi." Archer is a good guy. And he's a complete innocent, if that's not a weird thing to say about Earth's first representative to the universe.

It's not rest I need. It's privacy. C deck feels a long way away, and I hope I'm not walking strangely as I cross to the turbolift

It's a relief when the small compartment encases me. I can sag against the wall and close my eyes, let my rampant imagination loose with a flickering movie reel of erotic scenes playing out behind my eyelids. Damn, we're stopping.

"Hey, Hoshi."

Oh, shit. I am _so_ trapped.

All the blood in my body surges into my burning face. Mumbling a greeting I drop my head again, barely hearing Malcolm's quiet hello as he steps to my left. I feel sick; dizzy. Er, is that his hand sliding down my back?

"You headin' home?"

Trip's boots fill my line of vision. He's standing much to close. And didn't his voice seem a little too deep - too intimate - just then?

"Um - yes?"

Malcolm exhales a soft laugh against my nape. "You don't sound very sure of that, Ensign," he purrs, and every word hits that special spot just below the hairline that turns my spine to sun-softened butter. He is definitely too close, invading my personal space until I can feel the heat radiate from that tight, compact body and now Trip's feet are shuffling closer, and my chest's getting so tight I feel like I can't breathe...

"Relax, Hosh," Yes, Trip can purr too, and he's stooping to breathe his reassurance over my glowing forehead. "You're okay, babe. It's alright."

Oh. My. God.

They know.

And yet Commander Tucker hasn't yelled. Lieutenant Reed hasn't snarked. 

It might be tough to do that with his lips following the track of his breath, the end of his nose brushing aside my sweat-damp ponytail. "Not been sleeping well again, Hoshi?" he murmurs, that husky tone raising every fine hair on my body. He's so close behind me now I can feel every breath he takes, and - oh.

He's aroused. 

His erection nuzzles my ass, and mirroring it is the friendly poke of his lover's into my midriff as Trip leans forward, his arms lifting up to wrap us both in a crushing embrace after first halting the lift between decks. I must be dreaming.

"Did you like what you heard, Hosh?" he asks, dipping his mouth right to my ear. "Did it turn you on like it did us?"

"I - yes."

"You've wondered about us for a long time, haven't you?" Malcolm slips a hand between Trip and me, his thumb teasing my right nipple until, tingling, it puckers up into a tight, eager bud. "It's all right: we're not angry, are we, love?"

"Nah." Trip's teeth fasten around my earlobe, and the combination of sensations is too much. I hear myself whimper as I sag, feeling their erections pierce through layers of heavy twill cloth. "Mal noticed you blushing darlin'. Don't be ashamed; he's real observant, and when he asked me to check the diagnostic logs, well..."

Ashamed? I may be colouring up but it's all arousal, I can't think clearly enough for shame. Malcolm's hips rock, the head of his cock throbbing against the cleft between my buttocks; his lips work my nape, soft sounds of encouragement and approval seeping through the tender skin in every kiss. My legs won't hold me any longer.

"Easy darlin'." Trip shifts to plant a powerful leg between mine, giving me the support I need and a dose of stimulation that completely blots out rational thought. Mindless I can only undulate onto the hardness of his thigh, thrusting my butt back into Malcolm's insistent cock. There's a small breathy sound, then something moist and warm against my ear. When I twist my neck a little, I find they're kissing over my shoulder.

Wet, deep kisses filled with tongue, filling our little booth with the soft sounds of suction and small moans. One of Trip's hands has moved to catch the back of his lover's head; Malcolm jams himself into my body, the hand curved around my breast clawing in a frenzied massage that's sending bolts of lightning through my belly. They're so hard; so strong. And I'm sandwiched between them like a smear of peanut butter.

_Melting_ peanut butter. My brain is frying, and oh, beneath lowered eyelids I can see Trip's tongue licking its way around Malcolm's swollen lips. 

This is going to kill me, but wow! What a way to go.

"We were just going t' bed," he murmurs, heavy-lidded eyes of midnight blue caressing my face before returning to the sexily radiant one of his long-time love. "Wanna join us?"

"I - I..." My mouth's dried out. Tongue sticking to teeth, I think I manage to nod. The thick staff nudging my ass cheeks does the same.

"Good."

Trip's whimper drowns mine. Oh, that _voice!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was always told eavesdropping could get her into hot water. Hoshi had no idea of just how hot...

I don't know how we make it from the lift to Commander Tucker's quarters. I can't remember whether anyone saw us, and honestly, I don't care. I remember my knees shaking, and the strength of a shoulder or a hip keeping me upright; the softness of hot male breath against my cheek as they walked side by side behind me, their clasped hands bumping my backside. I'm dazed. This can't be real.

And yet here we are, the silver glow of passing stars lighting Trip's cabin as they sandwich me between their hard lengths, sharing deep kisses over my shoulder before taking turns to ravage my desperate mouth. Four hands move everywhere, tugging zippers, stroking exposed skin, popping buttons, and we're pressed so tight every breath taken by one ripples through to the marrow of all three. 

This is heaven. 

My jumpsuit slides to bunch around my ankles. One arm looped around my waist, Malcolm strokes the other down my arm in sweeps that are - strangely - relaxing. The chest pressing into my shoulder blades is bare. Trip must've been busier than I thought.

He's naked too. They're good at this.

And they're rubbing up against me, their cocks straining to meet in the middle, hot, sleek flesh pulsing against the soft mounds of my belly and butt. The contrasts are thrilling: Trip's dense chest mat against the smoothness of Malcolm's skin, faintly dusted with a scatter of fine dark hairs; the height disparity which works so well with one stooping over my shoulder, the other stretching behind my back; the different voices, each so rich and sensual, rolling over me like warm water. 

All I can do is cling to the support before me and sag into the strength behind, rocking between the two: drawing my pleasure from each in turn. 

Something touches my deepest core. Electric currents lance my length and I'm aware of Trip's honeyed murmur coming from at me from a great distance. "It's okay baby, just let us make it good for y'."

His fingers. That's what sent the lightning bolts through me; his long, clever fingers playing with my clit, spreading me open for penetration as Malcolm eases home from the rear. I'm so wet, drenched with my own need. He's big, but oh my, it feels good to be filled again!

My legs are water now; if Trip wasn't holding us up, pulling us together as I rock back onto Malcolm's solid cock we'd be on the floor, and that really wouldn't be so bad. Blindly I grope between our plastered lengths, grabbing onto the solidity of pulsing Southern arousal as he probes me, his breath panting hotly against the side of my neck. From the corner of my half-closed eye I can watch my lovers kiss some more, and if there's a sexier sight in the galaxy, I don't want to see it.

I couldn't handle the stimulation.

Trip's dick comes alive in my hand, matching the thrusts of Malcolm's deep inside and our moans are mingling, accents that should clash blending together in a symphony of bliss. Colours wash behind my eyelids and I'm trembling, so close to the edge now, deep, hot surges of pleasure sluicing out from my core. 

My hand heats up, drenched with his seed as Trip groans his climax into Malcolm's mouth and it triggers a chain reaction. His fingers tighten on my nub; my walls squeeze around Malcolm's penis as the orgasm erupts over me; his heat floods my womb as he stiffens, strains and finally comes, collapsing onto my sweaty back, his raspy breath fanning my ear. I'm so limp I'm practically liquid, melting into Trip's strength, as he shudders, raining kisses over my face and neck before returning, as if they're magnetised, to Malcolm's lips. 

I can't blame him. They're beautiful lips. I want to kiss them too.

"Would anybody mind awfully if we tried staggering to Bedfordshire now?"

Sex-slurred and totally relaxed, our English gent drawls as well as our good ol' Southern boy. Trip snuffles against my throat, his arms tightening reflexively to hold me up when Malcolm's withdrawal saps the last strength from my lower half.

They should be sated; so should I. But the level of friction as we shuffle backward across the small viewport and topple in a mess of tangled limbs onto a bunk designed to hold one reasonably-sized human is invigorating. I can feel both my partners' interest reviving as we settle, my head on Trip's shoulder and Malcolm's arm draped across us both. I need to taste those slim, sensually-drawn lips.

"Oh, boy," brushes by my ear. The mattress gives with a squeal as Trip shifts onto his hip, and if I wasn't enjoying this so much the weird angle of his squinting face at the edge of my peripheral vision would really be putting me off. Malcolm's tongue slides over mine, tip lifting to explore the roof of my mouth; my squeal runs down its length into his throat, and his gorgeous chest heaves as he swallows it whole. Something tickles my face; it's only when Malcolm lifts us both toward it I realise it's Trip's finger.

"You look so beautiful doin' that," our engineer whispers, looping a long leg across us. "Was it good, having Malcolm inside of you, Hosh?"

"Yes." What in hell does he expect? Surely he knows better than anyone, the littler guy is big in _all_ the right places!

"I could watch the two of y' all night." His hand bypasses me and goes straight for his boyfriend's nipple, and by the way he bucks off the bed, Malcolm likes that little pinch a lot. Just to test the theory, I pull my hand from between us and tweak the other nub. 

Oh yes, he _really_ gets off on that. I wonder if sucking gets as big a reaction.

He actually moans. For me.

Trip can't take any more. "Damn, that's jus' too hot," he groans, pushing his big, hairy thigh into my groin. "Malcolm - darlin'..."

Silver eyes widen. "Oh, yes," he whispers, and I can feel his hand drifting toward his own swollen penis. He clambers onto his knees and shifts to the foot of the bed, tongue flicking out as Trip seizes my mouth in a ravenous kiss, his hands brushing every millimetre of me he can reach. His cock butts against my damp folds and I can't hold back a whimper.

"You ready for this, Hosh?" he asks, waiting for my mute nod before his fingers forge a path for his dick to follow. Like the gentleman he always claims to be, he holds his upper body weight on his elbows, smiling down into my eyes as he slides home. "Damn, you're so tight baby... so hot."

That sigh wasn't mine. Over his shoulder I can just see Malcolm squatting on his haunches, gently caressing his length as he watches, shuttered gaze locked on the flex of his partner's ass with each slow stroke. He's biting his lip, fine tremors running through him as he fights the urge to crawl over and get involved. My hand comes off Trip's shoulder before I'm even aware what I'm suggesting.

"Join us."

The man covering me shudders. "C'mon darlin'," he growls, setting every nerve ending on fire all over again. I'm going to die of sheer bliss, and I want them both with me when it happens. I want to see Malcolm's angular features, tight with approaching ecstasy, over Trip's shoulder when I come. I want their combined weight forcing me down; fucking me through the mattress with the power of their joint thrusts. I want to feel them come together, convulsions running from Malcolm on top all the way through Trip and into me. 

Keeping my eyes open is difficult, but I have so much to see: Trip's forehead furrowing with sweet lines of concentration as he holds himself still, deep inside me; Malcolm's flinch as he greases his own cock until it glistens; the feral expression of raw hunger that settles over his sharply defined features as he clambers up, hands running the length of Trip's broad back until he's in position, riding the gentle thrusts Trip makes into me. I can't see what he's doing down below, but I get a pretty good idea when half-lidded blue eyes get wide and a well-kissed mouth gapes in a lascivious moan. 

"Uuuuhhhh!"

Their collective weight rests on me now but I don't care. Over Trip's shoulder I can see Malcolm, his eyes squeezed shut as he savours the sensation of being buried balls deep in his lover's tight ass. I can hear the faint slap of his tender sacs, mixing with the huffing breaths and the little squeals - some of which the sting in my throat suggests may be mine. There's more force behind the thrusts now, and oh my word, it feels too good.

Heat swirls in my groin, loosing white-hot tendrils into my belly and beyond. Sweat slicks our bodies, gluing us together and is that Malcolm's hand sliding down to fondle my breast again? I think he's got a _thing_ for a pert tit.

Release hits me like a thunderclap, forcing my body upward despite their collective weight, Enterprise erupting into a million golden shards that glitter through space. Their voices break like waves on the rocks as first Trip, then Malcolm is sent over the edge by the clench of willing muscle around him, each pushing hard, shoving deep into welcoming warmth before they slump, spent and boneless, into a great puddle of sweaty human flesh that melts into our tangled sheets. I can't actually breathe, but I don't care. I could stay like this, crushed beneath my two gorgeous, dangerous, unpredictable men for ever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can't last forever, but the boys have one last treat in store for their favourite lady.

When they shift to the side I'm bereft: not to mention scared of floating away, so feather-light do I feel. I can't open my eyes to see what all that wriggling and giggling (who'd have thought Lieutenant Stiff-Upper-Lip would be a giggler?) beside me means, not that it matters. Smooth skin and solid muscle brush my flaccid limbs until there's a faint sigh and... stillness.

It's heavenly to just lay here measuring time by their deep, even breathing. I burrow my buttocks into the depths of an unyielding standard-issue mattress and just for once it feels like an old-fashioned feather bed. I'm so sleepy.

My companions, on the other hand, are getting livelier by the second.

I don't know whether to admire their stamina or slap them around the heads for disturbing my trance, but they're petting gently, Trip's larger hand golden on Malcolm's pearly skin, Malcolm's long fingers winding their way through that appetising chest rug. Small snuffles of appreciation escape my English neighbour's puckered lips as that hand slips south to play with his rapidly rising organ. They should be wiped out by now!

He's flat on his back, his eyes half-closed and a dreamy smile playing at the corners of his kiss-bruised mouth. Trip, propped up on hip and elbow, ghosts his hand down a winding path, then follows it with lips, tongue and teeth, winning more of those delirious little half-purrs that shimmer off my glowing skin. "Triip," Malcolm murmurs, arching his hips as the second Southern hand gets as busy as the first. 

I'm so glad I've opened my eyes. The transcendent look of adoration on Trip Tucker's handsome face is possibly the most beautiful thing (cataclysmic orgasms included) to have happened to me all night.

"You just lay back and enjoy, darlin'," he croons, his expert manipulations making the wonderful body beside me squirm. The friction is delicious, but I can't take any more: every nerve ending explodes in a firework display of pleasure that's almost painful. I have to edge away, but I can't drag my eyes off them.

The tiny movement has reminded Trip of my presence, and he favours me with a lazily lopsided grin. "You mind if I take care of my man here, Hosh?"

"Feel free." It's his bed, after all. Willing my wobbly limbs to respond, I heave myself into a sitting position. Malcolm's hand snags with mine.

"Stay if you like," he murmurs, hazy grey eyes lingering on my tender lips. Trip's adam's apple bobs.

"Hell, yeah," he breathes, never pausing his gentle ministrations. My lower pulse throbs. Hard.

There's a chair beside his desk, close enough to lurch into and low enough, when adjusted, to give the perfect view. They've forgotten me already but that's okay. I can drag my seat forward and lean down, zeroing in on the important areas as Trip lifts himself and Malcolm spread his legs, feet braced against the bed frame. 

His eyes have closed again, and there's a faraway look on his fine-carved face. Catlike, he undulates into his lover's hands and the kiss they share is unlike anything I've witnessed yet; unbearably tender, as if their lusts have been subsumed in the depths of their mutual devotion. When he comes up for air, Trip is dazed, joyful moisture making his blond lashes spike up. 

"Love you," he whispers, and doesn't that just break my sentimental heart?

It has an effect lower down too. I've started to casually finger my puffy folds, one jagged nail's scrape enough to make me whimper. 

He reaches toward the floor, where a small bottle lies abandoned. It's too great a stretch for him, and his mouth droops as he contemplates the awful prospect of climbing out of his boyfriendâ's cloying embrace. Might as well be useful, Hoshi.

Unscented massage oil. I'd expected alien lube. Scented with something like pineapple. And sparkling.

Whatever works, I guess.

It gushes down Trip's rearing shaft and he throws back his head, mouth open as he gulps in all the air he can take. A drop of it dribbles down my finger - there's a stain on the carpet where the cap must have leaked - and I can't imagine the intensified sensation he's experiencing. He's cupped some in his hand, working it over his fingers before - oh, yes!

Craning my neck gives me the ideal angle to watch his fingers part Malcolm's milky cheeks and delve into the shadows, and I've forgotten what my own are doing as a ferocious English-accented _"Fuck, yes!"_ erupts from the bed. Trip needs one hand to steady his partner's bucking hips now and he's working blind, caught up in kissing his way north, biting down on nipple and pausing to suckle the base of Malcolm's throat. 

Is this why Malcolm's shirts are always buttoned so high? He'll be marked in the morning.

Malcolm's hands claw at Trip's back; a long, keening sound breaks out of their kiss as I watch Floridian cock disappear smoothly into British ass, inch by glorious inch. Powerful legs lift and lock around a narrow waist, and I have to move closer, twist my head a little more, to get the best view in the galaxy.

Yes, I'm playing with myself: my fingers are slick with my own juice, and every tender centimetre of flesh between my legs is burning, but you know what? I don't need the physical stimulus. What I'm seeing has me hot enough to fry an egg in my pubic hair.

Seeing and hearing, I might add. Trip's moving now, his hips twisting as he pushes himself deep, and Malcolm lifts to maximise the friction, broken fragments of hoarse speech bubbling out to urge his partner on. He stiffens briefly, his eyes flying wide open, and a single coherent syllable gets out. "There!"

His head is threshing so hard Trip can't catch up for a kiss, his shoulders lifting off the pillows as he tries mindlessly to deepen that delicious penetration. One hand's buried in my crotch as I stoop closer, my head almost between theirs, their breath setting fire to each cheek. I can't sit still. My innards are melting.

This is the hotter than the heart of any sun in the universe.

It's costing Trip to go slow. His forehead's tight and I can't stop my spare hand coming up to smooth the furrows away. Like a newborn kitten he reacts blindly to the touch while adding a small hip-twist that drags another of those wanton wails from his partner. I never expected Malcolm to be so vocal in bed. Guess you really do have to watch the quiet ones.

I can't stop a mew myself as my yielding secret flesh fizzes under my own touch and Malcolm chooses just the right moment for a drawn-out cry of "Yeessss!" He's gorgeous like this.

They both are.

My free hand's still fluttering around his brow, but Trip has a better use for it. Wrapping his fingers around my wrist he brings it down to envelop Malcolm's pulsating length, closing his bigger hand over mine. The contrast between my softness around one hand and the burning hardness in the other is exhilarating. Molten velvet over granite, Malcolm's penis jumps in the rhythm of his racing heart. I bet he doesn't even register the silkiness of callus-free skin slipping over the leaking head. 

"C'mon darlin', let it fly," Trip growls, his hand flexing over mine with every thrust of his hips. He's close now: panting, his movements losing their smooth flow as he shoves deeper, harder into Malcolm's receptive body. Every jerk of his body - every twitch of Malcolm's achingly hard dick - goes through my hand and straight down into my groin. I'd be afraid of jolting them the way I'm fidgeting in my chair, if I didn't know they'd completely forgotten I exist.

Malcolm comes first, howling as he strains to the stars. Deep, wet pulses deluge over both hands as my body reacts to his, washes of bright light sweeping until I'm falling, tumbling into delirious bliss. I'm barely conscious of Trip's harsh grunt when the spasm of Malcolm's passage carries him over the edge in our wake.

His fingers relax their death grip around my hand, which slides through the stickiness of semen to lie lax as the genitals beneath. My head is spinning; my body burns all over with that unique post-coital tenderness. 

Their breathing echoes around the cabin, broken by faint whimpers as Trip snuggles down, his full weight rested on Malcolm's relaxed body; and on my sticky hand, not that I'm complaining. Malcolm's arms anchor him down. Finally, I think they're done.

And that means I should leave.

My legs wobble. "Guess I should let you catch your beauty sleep," I joke, keeping my voice low lest I break the spell. My heart clenches at the matching groggy smiles that grace their perfect faces.

"'night, Hoshi," Malcolm mumbles, nuzzling into Trip's side as Tucker withdraws with a hiss to press his back against the cool bulkhead. Legs still tangled, Malcolm tucks his messy head in beneath his boyfriend's chin, asleep before I can answer.

"Yeah, sweet dreams," Trip adds drowsily. I've got to take one last look at them before I step out and close the door.

Beautiful.

A soft snore floats toward me, and suddenly my eyeballs are damp. I know I'll never have this opportunity again, and you know something? I wouldn't want it.

Oh sure, I've just had the most intense sexual experience of my life. _Two_ exquisite male specimens in one bed? Any woman's dream, right?

But I'm greedy. I want reality: to be the centre of my beloved's universe, their reason for existing. Trip and Malcolm have that spot filled already, and it's an acutely painful joy to see what they have together.

The door slides to, leaving me alone in a half-lit corridor with my sweaty palm pressed against the cool metal. It's weird.

In giving me a night to remember, my beautiful boys have clarified exactly what it is I want out of life. When I find it (and I will) I'll be sure to thank them for it.


End file.
